The Family in the Waiting Room Wants More - 2nd Revision

[HalfOpenArms]

But there is nothing more I have to offer.
Although it can no longer speak,
the body has a language of its own,
and hers has told me this is her last refrain.

In the faint blue of this delicate skin,
I place neat black sutures, taking extra care
to make them beautiful and small,
a steady hand the only thing left that I can give. [consider "left to give"]

This small body,
nearly translucent in its lightness, ["translucent in its lightness" strikes me as redundant and a bit awkward]
let loose from searing pain, slowly exhales ["searing pain" is cliché]
away from what it has known. [awkward, an unwelcome digression from the poem's established tone]

My throat suddenly as dry as hers,
my own bones aching now and old, [switch aching and now, maybe?]
I make my way down the long sterile hall
to speak the language of death.

Overall I really enjoyed this poem. I love that the title functions as the first line. The second stanza contains some very evocative imagery--I might even call it precise. "Let loose" in the third stanza is nice. I think that stanza needs the most work; the other three are nearly perfect.

Thank you for the read!